


An heir for a crown

by Elrewin



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-10
Updated: 2015-04-10
Packaged: 2018-03-22 05:43:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3717307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elrewin/pseuds/Elrewin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tourneys are always nice. Good food, good drinks, and if you’re lucky enough not to die you may even have the time of your life. It’s better when you’re not having a baby though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An heir for a crown

**Author's Note:**

> This summary is so lame. I'm so sorry.

"So... Will you root for me today ?"

Aegon was looking at her with so much hope in his eyes, he looked like a puppy begging for a threat.

"I don't know. Maybe."

"Please ?"

"And why would I do that ? There are others far more likely to win. Loras Tyrell is everyone's favourite this year."

"Because I'm your husband."

"Doesn't mean I have to support everything you do."

He slid his arms around her waist.

"Because you love me."

"Irrelevant."

He kissed her lightly.

"Because I can be really convincing..."

His lips moved below her ear, kissing and sucking and...

"Ouch."

Aegon's lifted his head abruptly, eyes wide and panicked.

"What ? What did I do ? Are you hurt ? Is it the baby ?"

Arya winced. Ever since she had announced her pregnancy, he had this tendency to worry over the slightest thing, as if she was carved in glass and a breeze could break her. He was much more careful than herself : he had even tried to forbid her to ride once (once ; he had not made the same mistake again). Really, she couldn't wait for the day he would handle her with the same passion he had before and not the fear that lied in his eyes everytime she made a move.

"No, stupid. It's just that your son has decided to train for battle in advance."

He smiled, relieved.

 "How do you know it is a boy ?"

"I am a woman. We know these things. Do you want to bet ? Ten dragons it is a boy."

He laughed and put his lips on hers once more. When he kissed her it was slow, languid, but so intense she felt her hands slide on his chest on their own.

A knock on the door interrupted whatever he would have done with that. Aegon's squire stood stifly, a little embarassed but determined to do his duty. Arya liked him, even if he kept blushing everytime she looked at him.

"Your Grace," he said after the formal courtesies. "It is time."

"Thank you. You can go. I'll follow in a few minutes." Right after the boy took his leave, he turned to his wife and pleaded more. "Give me your favor. Please ! Last time I wore it and I won."

Arya scoffed.

"That was a lucky shot. But fine, fine," she relented, because she was running late and she knew Aegon would not give up.

She took a ribbon on her dressing table. It wasn't a nice one, not even a ribbon actually, more like a rough handkerchief. She had others, clothes of silk and velvet and satin she never wore, but she liked this one best because it was grey and white and her mother had embroidered the direwolf of the Starks on it, and it reminded her of her family everytime she looked at it.

"Here," she said as she tucked it in his collar. "If you loose it, I'll kill you."

Her husband smirked, as he always did when she threatened him.

"Got it."

He kissed her one last time before taking off. Arya enjoyed the view from her window for a time. The city was crawling with citizens and lords and merchants and soldiers alike, all come to see the tourney. She wanted to go mingle with them, to see the shops rivaling to attract customers, buy a honeyed tart and eat it on the docks, maybe even go to Flea Bottom and see how the inhabitants were faring. But she knew her intendant would screech it was "improper for a princess to go mingle with the plebeians", to which she would retort it was thanks to them she was a princess and they would argue forever. But she was in no state to walk for hours. She was nearing the end of her pregnancy, and the simple walk from the throne room to her solar was already exhausting.

A breath of warm wind went to skim her face. The day was exceptionally hot, which was only adding to her discomfort. And she was wearing a light dress. She didn't dare imagine what the competitors of the tourney felt, clad in mail and leather. She drew away with regret from the window, as she would have gladly stayed in her bed all day, but she had to go to this stupid tournament, under a blazing sun watch men compete to see who had the biggest... sword. She changed for a light yellow dress, looking at the shirt and breeches she would have willingly worn instead of this constricted thing she couldn't even lace alone (maybe the size of her belly was the reason, but still). Once her maid finished her hair in something fit to a future queen (and horribly uncomfortable), she dismissed her gently and strode outside.

She was awaited by Ser Barristan, who had been appointed as her personal guard during her pregnancy. A huge argument had broke between her and Aegon when he had commanded that a member of the Kingsguard must accompagny her everywhere she went. She had hotly protested she could take care of herself and her baby on her own, thank you very much, but for once he had been adamant about it. His future child couldn't be left on her protection alone. Voices were starting to complain about some of the choices King Rhaegar made, or simply wanted the power for themselves, and would gladly get rid of her to settle their daughters at her place. Tywin Lannister especially had been furious when the proposal had been adressed to the Starks and not his granddaughter ; and even if Arya wasn't afraid, she stayed wary. But it didn't mean she would allow a guard to follow her everywhere for the rest of her life. Ultimately a compromise had been made, stating she would accept it only for the time of her pregnancy and she would get to choose whose guard.

She had set her choice on Barristan Selmy. The old man had a certain wisdom and quietness of character that reminded her of her father. He never looked at her with anything but fondness or exasperation when she did something wild, when she could see in others a certain mistrust. She knew what they saw in her, the ghost of a story that could, and had destroyed many things ; but she wasn't her aunt, no matter how much she looked like her, and Aegon wasn't his father.

She had come to find his presence relaxing. She felt so heavy and clumsy these days, she wasn't sure she could defend herself against a kitten. He greeted her with a small nod.

"How are you feeling today, Princess ?"

"Like an elephant in a corset, thank you for asking."

He laughed and offered his arm. She took him by the elbow and they started for the tourney.

"People say pregnancy is the most wonderful experience in a woman's life."

"Well, clearly these ''people'' are not women. Or maybe they are, but they don't want to scare the younger ones. I wouldn't bet on the survival of the human race if they knew what expect them. I can't wait until he's out."

They had reached the inner court and were welcomed by the heat falling on them like a screed. Arya wanted nothing more than go back inside, but she had promised her husband she would see him joust, even for a little while. The walk was long and demanding to the dais, so she took her time to talk to the men and lingered before the stall where a nice honeyed wine was sold. When she finally reached the dais, she realized she was almost late. Rhaenys gave her a thin smile and Elia a nod. She knew her stepmother would never like her, not with what had happened with her aunt, but she had earned a reluctant respect from her, and that was all that mattered to Arya. Rhaenys was a little warmer but she still took on her mother's side, and besides she was in the Vale most of the time so they could not really bond much.

Arya was much more pleased to discover Jon seated behind them. Her favourite cousin had dubbed himself her servant since the day she had told him she was with child, and so far he was doing an excellent job at keeping her satisfied – but then, she had only to look at his dark long face to feel happy. They had always been close, but now they shared the longing of the expatriates and Jon was the only concrete thing that attached her to her family anymore.

Soon after the king arrived the tourney began. Aegon was dashing in a white armor, the three-headed dragon of the Targaryens carved delicately on his breastplate, the sun making his hair the same color, and when he smiled she saw a few maidens giggle and swoon. She was secretly pleased to see her ribbon tied on the stick of his lance, even if she would never admit it. Aegon was never shy in his display of affection to her, always touching and kissing her without any care of being improper. Not that she complained.

The herald announced the beginning. The first to joust where knights from some lesser Houses she couldn't remember. She didn't paid much heed, instead watching the crowd or talking with Jon. She noted the notorious absence of House Lannister, wondering if that was something to worry about ; or the overwhelming presence of the Tyrells, deciding it was definitively something to worry about. She saw with discomfort the face of Petyr Baelish, that everybody nicknamed Littlefinger, and made a mental note to watch about him. Something about that man was unsettling her and her instinct rarely mislaid her.

The heat was growing more and more unbearable. She called for some lemony water but it did little to drench her thirst. A tight knot in her belly throbbed, growing more painful by the minute. Her palms were sweating. She wiped them on her dress but in vain. She started to have trouble breathing.

"Are you well ?" Jon asked, his brow furrowing as he watched her pant like a dog under the sun.

She tried a reassuring smile but it didn't seem to convince him. Arya took his hand and squeezed it in what she wanted to be a comforting gesture ; but the pain was getting stronger and her grip was too strong. He was about to call for water when Aegon appeared on the field, and his attention drifted on him.

The crowd cheered for her beloved prince. Arya was more like to worry when she saw he was facing Gerold Hightower, renowned for his strenght, and if she knew he wouldn't deliberately harm her husband he could still do some damages. Her pain forgotten, she watched the two of them put themselves in place and dash towards each other. Her husband was doing well, she judged. His opponent's lance landed right in the middle of his shield, but he managed to stay on his horse, avoiding the hardest of the blow elegantly. Despite her lack of interest in jousting, Arya was proud to see him fare so well. Maybe her ribbon did brought him luck after all.

They were settling for a second round when an aching pain bursted into her belly. Arya gasped, unable to breathe. Her hand closed into a fist, her nails sinking so hard into the flesh it bled. A second one exploded right as Aegon's lance landed on the other's shield, and her cry of pain was lost into the cheering of the crowd. She felt a wetness on her thighs : when she lowered her eyes, a large stain was spreading on her pretty yellow dress.

She felt panick rise into her throat. _No_ , she thought, _not now_. She wasn't ready. It was too soon. But another shot of pain flooded through her ; her right hand went on her belly on her own, while the other gripped Jon's arm so tight he turned to her wincing. His expression soon faded however when he saw her, eyes wide-open, hand locked on her belly, the dark stain on her dress.

Jon had always been bright : he understood immediatly what was happening. She told him anyway.

"My water broke."

***

Her voice was thin, a little girl's voice, not a woman's. It reminded him so much of their childhood, when she ran into his bed after a nightmare or when Sansa or Septa Mordane had been particularly harsh with her. But there was nothing he could do for this now. What could he say ? It wasn't like he could stop her from having a baby.

She had spoken to him specifically, yet it seemed everybody heard. Rhaenys was the first to react.

"Ser Barristan," she said in the sweet yet stealy voice of the princess she was. "Bring the princess to her room. We have to call the maester and the midwifes. Jon, go tell the servants to boil some water."

"She won't make it to her room," her mother interrupted. "It is half the castle away. We need to find somewhere closer."

"Maybe we can ask..."

His father said nothing. Neither did Jon. It was women's matter, it was known, but even if it wasn't they wouldn't know what to do anyway.

Arya's gaze was locked onto Aegon, who was riding once more. "No," she said.

Rhaenys and Elia were still arguing, unaware of Arya's speaking. It took Arya's shout to make them stop.

"NO !"

All turned to her, looking as if they thought her mad.

"I can't leave. Aegon is jousting. If I leave now he will know something is wrong, and I want his mind to be on his opponent, not me. I won't make my baby an orphan before he was even born."

"Arya, sweetie, you are having your baby," Elia said, her tone like she was talking to a little girl. "You don't get to decide when."

Arya shot her a dark look, but another shot of pain kept her to answer. She bit her lip, holding back her scream, and took Jon's hand.

"It is only the beginning. I know it can take time before it happens. I'll wait till Aegon is done with this round, then I'll go."

His cousin might be slim and slender, she had the voice of a queen. No one dared to object, though he saw on many faces what they truly thought of the idea.

Arya was doing a great job at hiding her pain, even if she squeezed his hand so hard everytime a contraction came he felt his bones scream in agony. At one point Jon gave up about wanting his brother to win, only wishing the joust to end so he could take back his fingers intact. Fortunately, soon after Gerold held his shield a little too low and Aegon's blow managed to unhorse him. The crowd cheered so loud it must have been heard from the docks. Aegon did a tour of celebration – he was kind of a show-off sometimes – before he bowed slightly in front of them. Arya smiled at him proudly, and Jon was about to do it as well when her little hand gripped his so hard he thought she was breaking it in two.

While Aegon waved at the crowd, he whispered :

"Arya, let go of my hand please."

She ignored him, her grip even becoming stronger, but her smile was so fixed he guessed she was in horrible pain. He was too, however the difference being he could make it stop.

"Arya, please, I'm begging you you're going to... HOLY MOTHER OF-"

His fingers made a worrying sound between hers, and he snatched them free before she ripped them clean. She didn't even seemed to notice.

"For Gods sake, why does he need to show off all the time ?" she said through gritted teeth, her eyes set on her husband who lingered under the cheerings.

Jon was looking at his hand.

"I think you broke my finger."

"Oh, I'm sorry Jon, I didn't realize I was holding you too tight while I'm trying to hold back a fucking human being inside of me. What can I do to make it up to you ?" she retorted with angrily.

Jon scrambled on his feet. Aegon had retired from the field, so he took his cousin's arm with as much delicacy he could manage and helped her to stand up. Arya made a pained face but didn't say a word. It was only when they reached the stairs that she gave instructions to tell Aegon she was getting bored and had retired.

"Are you sure ?" Rhaenys intervened. "He will get offended. We could tell him the violence upseted you and you had to go."

Arya scoffed.

"Yes. Like he would believe that."

They took her leave, Barristan Selmy following close behind them. Despite all her efforts, they were walking awfully slow, and Jon started to believe she would deliver on the soft earth behind a tent – and that, he could hear his grandmother scold, was not the way a future king arrives into the world. After fifteen minutes and barely two hundred feet made, he ultimately picked her up and strode towards the castle. For once Arya did not protest, instead put her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes.

His arms were aching when they made it to her room, but he delicately dropped her on her bed. She was panting heavily by then, her hands locked onto her belly. Selmy was gone looking for the maester and some servants ; the two of them were alone. Jon took a long look at her face. She looked so small and frightened, so far from the confident and assertive woman she usually was. He wanted to comfort her, to tell her he would protect her from any harm. She was still his baby sister, the person he loved most, and being unable to help her was killing him inside. But she was in a place he couldn't go. He moved aside a sweat-soaked strand of hair from her forehead, and went to fetch some water to cool her damp skin ; however, before he could move, she grabbed his hand.

"Stay," she pleaded. "Stay with me."

He knelt next to her bed, taking her hand back in his. Her face was contorted when she turned to him.

"Always."

***

He was pissed. There was no other words. He had been so good, won that stupid tourney and when he had wanted to crown his wife she had _left_ ? Out of boredom, no less.

He had given the crown to his mother, still unwilling, despite his anger, to give false hopes to a poor maiden, then left for his tent. He could hear outside the happy clamor of the people scattering back in the city or the castle. He was tearing off his breastplate when his squire entered. His face was red and flushed, and his lips swollen.

"About time," he greeted him coldly.

The boy lost his joyful expression, turned pale and hurried to help him. Aegon felt a little bad but he was still dulling on Arya. Not only was he sad she hadn't felt the need to support him, but she also made him look like a fool. What king would he be if his own wife didn't respect him ? Arya's wildness was something he had come to accept, even like, but there were lines he couldn't allow her to cross. She could rule him as much as she wanted in private, but she had to play her role in public at least.

He was interrupted in his brooding by his father entering his tent. Rhaegar was still as hieratic as what could be expected of a king, his beauty magnified by age, but the ruling and his own nature had taken their toll on him. He was sadder, more tired, and even Arya's shenanigans rarely wrested a smile out of him these days. The thought of his wife plunged him back into his sulking.

"You did well today," Rhaegar said with his deep, calm voice. "You did justice to your House."

"Thanks," Aegon replied gloomily. His father's compliments were to rare to ignore them when they happened. "It would have been nice if everybody had been there to see it."

"Arya was, at first. She had to leave."

"To do what ?" he snarled rather childishly. "Eat cakes in the kitchen ?"

"Have your baby," his father replied quietly.

It took some time to wrap his head around the information. When he realized, he reacted with all the dignity of a Targaryen prince.

"What ?" he shrieked. "When... How... Why didn't you tell me ?"

"I do now. Arya forbade us to do so before. She wanted you to focus on your jousting so you wouldn't be distracted."

That sounded like her. Suddenly he felt bad for thinking such disgraceful things about her, while she was struggling to give birth to his child. He should have known. She may be wild and reckless, and she seriously needed a filter on her mouth sometimes, but she knew what was best for him.

Then it hit him. She was giving birth to his child. As in right now.

He started running before he was even out of the tent. Around him knights and squires alike were relaxing, chatting or drinking, some even had a common girl on their lap. He earned some surprised looks, some congratulations too but he ignored them all as he passed by. The castle was cooler, but more crowded, and several times he almost knocked someone off his feet in his haste.

His room was buzzing with people when he arrived. The maester was there of course, and an important number of maids ; it was the birth of a royal heir after all. He also glimpsed Jon's dark mop of hair beside the bed. He couldn't see his wife, though, so he tasked a maid to announce his arrival while he was retrieving his breath. He was rather surprised when he heard he could "go fuck himself".

His brother went to meet him at the door.

"She is a little bit... angry at you, as you can see," Jon said apologetically.

"What did I do ?"

"Well, you did put her in this state, for a start."

 _She didn't complain very much at the time_ , he thought, but he held his tongue. Jon had spend the main part of his childhood in Winterfell, and he had developped a strong brotherly bond with Arya ; he still saw her as his little sister, but somehow had missed the part where she had grown. Aegon was glad his wife had someone to protect her – the fight he had with a Tyrell boy over an offensive comment about her... body had made much noise at the time – but it sometimes bordered on overprotection. Despite their four years of marriage, he still eyed him disapprovingly every time he touched her with more intimacy than decency allowed.

Aegon wasn't willing to stay away from his wife however. Not now, not when she was giving birth to their child.

"How is she doing ?" he asked, concerned.

Jon's face softened, though a bit of worry tainted his affection.

"Well so far, according to the maester. She's a fighter. She always has been."

"I want to see her."

He pushed through him, though his brother didn't really stopped him. Several maids enjoined him to step back, to go wait outside and rest but he ignored them as he strode to their bed. Arya was lied on it, her hair a dark contrast against the bed sheets, tangled and matted with sweat. Her face was also glowing and was contorted in an expression of pain or anger, he couldn't tell, as she saw him get close.

His wife was a beautiful woman. She may not believe it, but she was. Tall and slender, with strong features, high cheekbones and those haunting grey eyes that followed him even when he closed his own. He had seen her in all kind of outfits, splendid gowns of silk and Myrish lace for the feasts, breeches and linen shirt when they sneaked out of the palace to ride in the godswoods, naked as the day she was born when she surprised him after a long day of work (this one was his favourite). But she had never been more beautiful than she was now.

"Go away you turd," she snarled.

Well, until she opened her mouth.

He squatted next to the mattress, trying to take her hand in his, but she snatched it away and gave him a dark glare. He wasn't really worried though. He knew she wasn't really angry, and lash out at him was her way to deal with the pain more than real anger. He couldn't know what swirled into her head. Fear ? He knew his wife was tough, strong, but this was something entirely new, for her as well as he. He (or she, for what matters) could deal with fleshed opponents, with enemies with blades in hand, or even the sneaky ones that whispered behind his back at court. But what could he do against something he couldn't touch, something he couldn't kill ? He felt powerless, useless as he watched her struggle and fight a battle only she could win.

He wished her mother was here. Catelyn Stark had given birth to five children, and would probably be more efficient in reassuring her, but beyond that he wished there was somebody in here who cared more for Arya than for the future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Arya was, save for Jon, painfully isolated from her family since she came to King's Landing. He knew their marriage was a way to mend things with the North since that dreadful affair between his father and her aunt but despite the love that blossomed between them, the blow was too fresh in Eddard Stark's mind to come too often. Or at least that was what she had told him. He had wished for a time his own family would replace hers, but Arya's ressemblance to her aunt had annihilated any hope of anything else than reluctant respect from his mother. Rhaenys was friendlier, but she was rarely here and besides loyalty to her mother came first. And his father... When he wasn't in his own world he either carefully avoided her or watched her with sadness longing in his eyes. Aegon didn't know what was worse.

Arya let out a choked cry of pain, her fingers clutching so hard at the bedsheets she tore them a little.

"I hate you," she said panting, fury shining in her eyes.

"I know," he answered, brushing a lock of dark hair out of her brow.

"This is your fault."

"I'll make it up to you, I promise."

"I'll never let you touch me again. Ever. That was the last time, I swear !"

 _You will yield before me_ , he thought, but somehow he didn't think it would be a good idea to tell that now. His fingers were too close to her teeth to his liking.

She ultimately let him touch her, hold her hand – he wished she hadn't when her stone-crushing grip almost broke it -, stroke her hair, make her drink water and cool her face with damp clothes. He told her stories of his childhood, especially the ones where he made a fool of himself - like that time where he had been convinced he could beat Jon at a drinking contest and ended with a three days lasting hungover, or when with Rhaenys they had chased Balerion around the castle and ended lost till nightfall.

He distracted her for a while, but when the labor started he and Jon were quickly kicked out the room by a matronly woman who claimed that "they were more useful outside than underfoot". He started pacing the hall like a caged lion, under the compassionate look of Barristan Selmy, struggling to not barge into the room everytime she cried more forcefully than usual. Jon on the contrary stayed as still as a statue, but on his face were reflected all his emotions. Then silence fell.

He felt a rise of panic in his throat. What did that mean ? Was she dead ? Why did nobody went to _talk_ to them ? He was still frozen, trying to order his thoughts, when another cry rose in the air. It was different, less powerful but steady, full of indignation more than pain.

 _My child_ , he thought dully, his brain englued in a numbing mist.

When the door opened, he barely registered the woman in front of him. All he could do was stare at the bundle of clothes between her arms. She held him out for him, and as he tentatively caught it, he discovered for the first time the face of his son.

***

It was pitch dark when Arya opened her eyes. For a few minutes she laid motionless, disoriented. Her body felt sore and sweaty, despite the fresh sheets, but strangely light. She floated in a haze, the events of the day coming back to her. Then she remembered she just had a baby.

She sat up suddenly. Her eyes quickly scanned the room, but her child was nowhere to be seen. That couldn't be. Where was he ? He was supposed to be safe here. It was King's Landing, not a cottage on the shore. They had guards everywhere ! Where was he ? Where was her son ?!

She tried to stand up but her legs gave way under her. It took her a while to finally manage to stand straight, and she hobbled to the door on shaky legs, but there was no way she would stay in her room while her child was missing. She slipped on a linen shirt to cover her nakedness, caught a dagger then went out in the empty hallway.

As she walked, her hand against the wall for support, her mind drifted apart. Who would be stupid – or powerful – enough to steal the future heir of the crown ? She knew she had made some ennemies with her marriage to Aegon, she knew that. But would they go so far as attacking her baby...? That would be insanely cruel. But then, the world was full of cruel men.

Her legs were aching. The delivery had left her weak and confused, in no state to stand a fight if there ever was one. But still she kept going until she fell. At that moment, Jon turned the corner and found her sprawled on the floor.

"Arya !"

He rushed to help her but stopped when she gave him a deadly glare.

"Where is my child ?" she asked in an iron tone.

The dagger was still tightly stuck in her hand. She had cut herself when she fell, and blood had started to drip through her fingers but she didn't care.

"Your hand- you're harmed !"

She raised the blade.

"Where is my child !" she said louder. What was wrong with him ? She didn't give a damn about her hand when her child was gone !

"He is with Aegon ! God Arya, you just had a baby, you can't run around in the castle like that..."

"I wouldn't have to," she said coldly, "if someone had been there to explain why my baby isn't with me right now."

"He is with Aegon," her brother quickly repeated. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it on her wound. "He wouldn't let go of him for a second. He didn't even go to the feast. I swear to the Seven, you will have to draw the lines, because there is no way he will refuse him anything."

Arya smiled, relieved. The exhaustion she felt was weighing down on her now that she knew her son was safe, and her hand was throbbing painfully against the cold stone of the floor.

"Wait," she said suddenly as the realization hit her. "It's a boy ? I have a son ?"

Jon grinned widely.

"You do. Now come on. Let's put you into bed. I'll ask Aegon to bring you your baby."

 

 

She was safely tucked under the covers when the door opened, the silhouette of her husband standing out in the doorframe. In his arms was a bundle of clothes that could only be _him_.

"Give him to me," she commanded, holding out her arms.

Aegon sat next to her and carefully handed her her little boy. She welcomed him in her arms and took in the sight of his face, the thin dark hair, the round little nose, the adorable slimy pout he did while sleeping. She felt her heart tighten. Was it possible to love someone that much ?

"He's so beautiful," she whispered.

"He takes after you," Aegon replied quietly. "Well, for the hair at least. The beautiful part is all me."

"Hope he doesn't have your ego as well," she scoffed. She leaned against him when he kissed her hair. "Have you choosen a name yet ?"

"No. Everything seems wrong. I tried Aemon, Aenar, Jaehaerys, Viserys,..."

"We're not naming our child _Viserys_."

"Why not ?"

"Because your uncle is a dick."

"Well you try then," he snapped – without denying. "Maybe you'll get something else than a blank stare."

Arya stayed silent for a minute. Then she said soflty :

"How about Eddard ?"

Aegon pulled a face.

"What ? What's wrong with that name ?"

"Well... Don't take it the wrong way, but I find your father's name a bit... ugly. It doesn't sound well."

"Oh yeah ? Well, ''Rhaegar'' sounds pompous."

"It does not !"

"It does !"

"It-"

They fell silent when the baby stirred. He opened his mouth in a silent cry, then went back to sleep. They marveled for more time they were proud to admit, but soon the question of the name came back on the table, going from every single one of Arya's brothers to Aegon's distant relatives.

"What about Aelyx ?"

Aegon pondered. Aelyx had been a ancient lord of Dragonstone, not very remembered, if not at all. He was born and gone without making a print on people's minds. He was even surprised she knew who he was.

"I did my homeworks," she replied when he voiced his thoughts.

"Don't you think it's a little... blank ? There hasn't been any famous Aelyx..."

"That's the point. If our son does great things, I want it to be because he's a great man. Not because he feels the need to compete with some obscure ancestor. What do you think Aelyx ?"

Her baby made a little gurgling sound that was obviously positive.

"See ?" she bragged happily.

“Aelyx it is then.”

Silence fell again, only disturbed by the distant noises of the tourney feast. Arya was feeling her eyes close on their own ; it was all she could do to shift slightly on the side and let Aegon lay down beside her. No, not her. Them.

She was almost asleep when she remembered something.

“By the way, you owe me ten dragons.”

 


End file.
